


Poetry from Peter VI

by forgetcanon



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Angst, Gen, Poetry, Science
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-06 16:13:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgetcanon/pseuds/forgetcanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A rusty blue matter knife slipped from my grasp and impaled itself in the Walters." A series of poems from Peter Walter VI, on science and on his family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Public Image

**Author's Note:**

> I recommend viewing it as a whole work- the poems are rather short.

Public Image  
a rusty blue matter knife slipped from my grasp  
and impaled itself in the Walters  
such a clumsy bunch we are  
such a broad collection of scars  
every inch of skin we show has an oozing set of stitches.


	2. (Written in the Margins of an Experiment Log)

(Written in the Margins of an Experiment Log)  
There once was a poet that only wrote short poems.   
When asked why, she replied that she had many children  
and a memory that could only hold a few lines until the end of the day.  
I check a dozen squabbling experiments, make them dinner,  
quiet them down and settle them for bed.  
I believe I have found a kindred spirit.


	3. Disciplines

Disciplines  
Time travel is the one road  
(of science that is)  
where I dare not tread.  
In all other directions  
I can recognize danger signs  
(cliffs and the like)  
avoid pitfalls and poison,  
but time is a strange land  
(full of temptation)

Shall I go back a year,  
restore my own body  
bring back the smile my mother misses

Shall I go back forty years,  
with a certain string of data  
and save them those lost years

Shall I go back sixty years,  
camp out in a hallway  
and prevent a theft

Shall I go back more  
and more and more and more  
120 years  
to warn a young man  
to beware his own pride

No.  
Let’s not.  
Chemistry is less volatile,  
Genetics is less offensive,  
and Nuclear Science less corrupting  
than what lies down that road.


	4. 2 A.M.

**2 A.M.**  
thoughts are fragile things  
woven by lightning spiders  
with sand for fuel  
  
a puff of air  
and the pattern shifts  
or the spiders falter  
and there is a fatal gap  
  
but sometimes  
glass architecture is sustained  
and sparkles


	5. Solace

Solace  
These are the quiet times  
A blanket of stars to wrap around my shoulders  
A chipped mug of statistics to sip  
Solitude,  
until I must return to a world  
where stars are infinitely distant  
and statistics are graphite on dead trees.


	6. Self-comforting gestures

Self-comforting gestures  
A lie ironed on by busy reporters  
where I have gone mad and here’s why.  
“Here’s the picture of his locked-up face  
and here’s the little boy he used to be.”  
  
A lie shared by my family  
Where this is just an adjusment period.  
Everything will be the same if we wait.  
“Our poor boy, he just needs time.”  
  
A lie when I whisper to my pillow,  
“The only certain thing is chaos;  
everything would have changed anyway,”  
and I reach for a mask in an empty room.  
  
We all comfort ourselves somehow.


	7. Scrawled on a napkin

_Scribbled on a napkin, thrown away, rescued and returned by a sharp-eyed robot, transferred to a private journal._

  
I don't pretend to know where I stand with the Gods.  
I don't intend to know for quite some time.*  
That's all I have to say about Easter.**

*despite what my parents say

**no, I lied. There's more.  
Chocolate is amazing.  
My relatives are terrible.  
Robots are kind.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HatchWorth is very perceptive.


End file.
